Happy St Patrick's Day
by areyouserial
Summary: After Jamie spends the day at the St. Patrick's Day parade, he finds himself drunk at Eddie's door. And it's what Eddie won't let him say that will linger on her mind all night.


**A/N:** _Just a little festive angst on St. Patrick's Day! :D With a Blue Bloods hiatus, enjoy some Jamko feels. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

The slow knock on my door makes my heart slam in my chest and I bolt upright on the couch.

"Who the hell?" I murmur aloud and reach out to mute the movie I'm watching, a documentary about the infamous Zodiac killer, which I realize now was a mistake. Especially in the dark.

The knock sounds again, a playful little _rap-rap-rap_. I glance down at the loose t-shirt I'm wearing that slips off one shoulder, along with a pair of yoga pants, and I push off the couch. Light on my feet, I quickly duck into the bedroom and grasp my gun. Then I cross through the living room and make it to the door, ease up on my toes to peer through the peep hole. There in the hallway, I spot what I assume is Jamie's shoulder and his head propped against my door.

"Jeez," I exhale as I drop down to my heels, flip the lock, and pull open the door.

Before I can even question what he's doing here, I'm caught off guard when I see him wobble off his balance now that the door has been pulled away. He stands there wearing a backwards baseball hat that I can't even deal with, along with his leather jacket over a green sweater.

"You dummy," I grumble.

"Oh good, you're home." He offers a lazy smile and lets himself in, brushing past me.

"You're wasted, what are you doing here?"

Slowly, he blows out a scoff, glancing back at me, then makes his way to my couch where he falls across it face-first.

"Seriously, are you okay?" I wonder, crossing back to my room to replace the gun. "I've never seen you like this."

"I'm fine," he groans into a throw pillow. "I was in the East Village, and I thought, ' _Hey, my partner lives here-_.'"

"Oh my god."

"And I haven't seen you all day."

"Yeah, you took the day off," I remind him. "And now I see it's because you wanted to look cool with your hat on backwards without having to face my judgment."

"I went to the Saint Patrick's Day parade."

I raise my chin in realization. "Oh, I see."

"It's an annual tradition. Danny and I take it off every year."

"Such good Irish Catholic boys." I smile at him and he chuckles softly as he rolls over. When he does, he adjusts his hat, sliding it over his face.

"I'm just gonna pass out here if that's cool."

"Hell no, it's not cool. No drunk boys on my couch."

He shifts his hat down and peers out at me. "You look cute."

"Oh wow, you really are drunk." I reach down and flip on the lamp on my table. He squints when the light bathes the otherwise dark living room and groans at me.

When the light hits him, I see what bad shape he's in. "Shit Reagan." I walk to the couch and lean over him to scrutinize the messy red and fuschia smudges on his cheeks. At first, I thought he got punched, but when I swipe my thumb across the waxy marks, they smear away.

"Is that lipstick?"

"What?"

"On your face!" I inform him. "You were a big hit at the parade, I see."

He merely responds with a mumble and hugs his arms around another pillow.

"Please tell me Danny did not engage in any of these same shenanigans. I know he's better than that."

"No, Danny didn't do anything," he assures me. "It's not like that."

"I hate Saint Patrick's Day in New York," I mutter as I reach down and tug Jamie's ankles off the couch so that I can sit down. Once I do, he slings his legs across my lap. "People start drinking at like, eight a.m. It's obnoxious. We made almost twenty drunk driving arrests in Manhattan alone before noon."

"People like any holiday that's an excuse to drink," he tells me. "But Saint Paddy's Day and the NYPD go way back. Next year, you'll have to come out with us."

"Some of us have to work."

"Yeah, yeah," he groans.

I shake my head with a smile. "You need a shower, ladies man. You smell… and it's triggering college flashbacks for me."

He laughs and slowly makes his way upright beside me, letting his feet fall to the floor.

I arch an eyebrow at him and watch as he takes his time rubbing his eyes before I ask, "How many girls did you makeout with today?"

"What's it to you?"

My head eases back at the hostile note in his voice. "Oh, excuse me."

"I wasn't making out with girls, not that it matters."

"I'm sorry. It's just that usually, you know how to act like a grown-up who has his shit together. You look like some of the guys we issued citations to today for public urination."

"Fine, I'll go." He shrugs. "Where's what's-his-name? I figure he'd be over here tonight."

"Who?"

"The EMT who got your number when we were working that pile-up yesterday."

I make a face and push myself up off the couch. "Is that what this is about?"

"I'm just asking."

"First of all, I met him a day ago, so I'd hope you'd know me better than to think I'd invite him inside my apartment at ten o'clock at night. And second, what if he was here? What, you gonna try to kick his ass or something?"

"Get over yourself, Eddie."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," he admonishes. "The other day, we're on patrol and you got jealous when some girl asked me directions to Rockefeller Center."

"Oh, you mean the one said if you needed to frisk her, feel free? I wasn't jealous, I just told her ass to move on," I say. "Girls hit on you all the time when we're on duty. You don't think I'm used to it by now?"

"You seem to always have something to say about it, I know that much."

"Yeah, well at least I admit it, Jamie. At least I've acknowledged that I've been jealous before. I've said it out loud. You can't bring yourself to do the same. I guess wailing on some guy because he tried to dance with me at a wedding is the closest you can come to expressing your feelings."

"That guy was a tool, and he threw the first punch."

"I don't even want to have this conversation. I can't believe you showed up here like this, you should see yourself."

With a scoff, he shakes his head, snatches his hat off the floor, and gets up from the couch. "Cool. Well I'll head out then."

He brushes past me and I listen to the thud of his boots on my hardwood floor until he reaches my hallway.

"Jamie." I sigh his name.

He turns, scratching the back of his head. "Look, I'm sorry… I came over here like this. I'm sorry."

I manage a nervous swallow, taking a couple steps closer to him. This isn't something I should say, even though it's lingered in my mind ever since that nightmare wedding out on Long Island that landed us in county lockup. But I've never been good at filtering myself, so I say it anyway.

"I think… in this determination we have to stay together as partners, we haven't been honest with ourselves. And yeah, I don't want to lose you as a partner, but I also don't want to lose you as a friend," I explain. "And if we're not clear with one another, all in the name of the _appearance_ of professionalism, it's going to blow up in our faces."

He leans his shoulder against the wall near my kitchen and sets his serious gaze on me, the kind that steels his jawline and makes me hate how handsome he is sometimes, even embarrassingly drunk.

I continue because I sort of feel like I can't stop myself and I come closer. "You tell me there's feelings there, but you brush them off as a bad idea. Maybe those feelings aren't strong enough to make you give me up as a partner, so… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"It's not that." He shakes his head. "It's not about my feelings not being strong enough. You know that-"

"No, I don't know that, Reagan."

He looks at me, resolve clearing his eyes just enough for me to start believing him. "Eddie, I wish…" He pauses to press his lips together in thought before he continues. "I wish that I was at all interested in kissing any of those girls." He gestures to his own face, then lets his hand fall where it slaps his leg. " _Any_ other girls, Eddie. That'd make things so much easier. But I'm not."

I hesitate a moment, almost scared for him to explain why. I manage a steady inhale and a hard swallow. As much as I want him to explain, to say more, to tell me that he only wants to kiss me, it's not the right moment.

"I need you to know-"

"Jamie…" I take hold of the open zipper on his jacket and peer up at him. "I don't want you to say anything you wouldn't admit sober. Okay?"

He glances down at my fingers and shifts in front of me. The way he lingers triggers that craving I get for him when he's this close.

But I find another deep breath and keep talking. "And you can't spend your day drunkenly kissing a bunch of parade girls, and then show up here at night and try to crash on my couch."

"I didn't-"

I cut him off with a look. I don't care who kissed who, he doesn't get me that easily.

"You're right," he admits with a sigh. "And I'm really sorry."

"And I think… that you should go home," I tell him. "And sleep. And take a shower. And I'll see you tomorrow."

It takes all of my willpower to say it. All I really want is to push him into my shower so he can sober up and then let him hang out at my place all night. We could order late night takeout and finish the movie, amuse ourselves with our Zodiac killer theories. But he ruined that by acting like a jackass and pulling that bullshit jealous act, which he later denies. And that's completely unfair to me.

With a solemn nod, he takes a step back and I see the regret trail across his brow as he turns to the door. I walk him to it, lingering behind him as he pulls it open.

He turns to me suddenly in the open doorway and it steals my breath for a moment.

"Eddie-"

The air that I can't let out makes my chest feel like it's about to burst. The way he hovers over me has me frozen. My hand grasps the edge of the door and in my mind, I will him to walk to away because my resolve is on the verge of running out. Jackass wasted, or not, my unrelenting attraction to him still swirls inside me and is dangerously close to taking over.

I set my hand on his chest and glance down. "Don't, Jamie," I whisper.

"I'm sorry," he repeats softly.

My hand falters and rather than keeping him at bay, my fingers start to grasp the center of his sweater and I lean into him.

He lets his head drop, his forehead meeting mine and I savor it for just a beat before my eyes close and I manage to turn my head away.

I nod and force myself a step back.

He glances up in search of a sobering breath as he goes to leave, turning out of my doorway.

I close the door behind him and my back falls against it. I finally let out that breath, hoping I'll feel relief. But instead, there's just a void. A hollow ache that makes me wonder whether I just closed the door on the person I need the most.


End file.
